Reunion in October (The Calendar Girls Book 2) (12 page)

A thermometer? Weird. I’d never seen one like this before. Lifting my tongue, I opened my mouth and sure enough, Leslie the supermodel nurse, slipped the hard plastic into position. “Umm…” I struggled to speak around the wand under my tongue.

“Sssh.” Leslie pressed a finger to her lips. “Give me a minute, okay?” Turning to the EKG machine near my bed, she drew some vicious-looking lines on the paper rolling out, then tore off the long strip.

I turned to Roy, who stood near the wall of windows, shifting from one foot to the other. Why wouldn’t he look at me? Or talk to me? What had I done? I still had no idea why I was here. And where was Luke? What about the rest of our kids? Who was taking care of them all while Roy and I were here? Had they come home from school yet? Would Miss Lydia bring Luke home when she left the library? Oh, God, had anyone fed Luke? He’d missed lunch by now, and that boy had a powerful set of lungs for communicating hunger.

What time was it anyway? I scanned the walls, but the clock was cut off by the pale yellow curtain that separated my half of the hospital room from whoever had the bed near the door. All I could see was one hand between the two and the three. Leslie had said she’d be with me ‘til five. I took another glance out the window and confirmed the sun lit the sky and buildings. So…maybe 2:40, 2:45? Definitely after 2:30 but before three o’clock in the afternoon.

Was it still Monday? I had no idea.

At last, Leslie returned to my bedside and removed the thermometer. After ditching the disposable sleeve in the wastebasket, she popped the interior plastic piece into a digital case. Picking up a patient chart, she scribbled something. What? Were my numbers good? Bad? Meh? I stretched my neck to see, but she must have sensed my curiosity because she turned her back, blocking my view.

“Okay. Dr. Stewart will be in in a bit. Can I get you some water or something in the meantime?”

I pushed the up arrow on my bedrail to raise myself to a sitting position. “Yes, please.”

She grabbed my plastic pitcher from the rolling tray and left, abandoning me to my husband’s aloofness. He stood by the window, one hip leaning against the radiator, a deep frown hardening his features.

“Wanna fill me in?” I asked him. “Why am I here?”

“Hell, Em, you don’t remember?” He furrowed his fingers through his scalp.

“If I remembered, would I ask you?” Jeez, Louise. What was going on? “What exactly happened?”

“You had a heart attack.”

I smirked. “Yeah, right. Enough games. I’m about to have a real heart attack if someone doesn’t clue me in soon. Come on, Roy. What really happened? What, I fell asleep again? Big whoop. I’m just tired. I’m sorry if I scared you, but I don’t need to be here. Let’s just get the kids and go home, okay?”

“Em.” He sank into the chair beside my bed, but didn’t touch me.

Which sucked because I really could have used his solid strength right then. Something was very wrong, and I had no idea what to do or how to fix it.

“No joke,” he continued. “You had a heart attack in the library café. Your boyfriend had to perform CPR.”

“My…boyfriend.” Okay, now I knew he was kidding. My boyfriend. Ha, ha. Very funny. “You mean Luke?”

“No,” he bit out, his gaze pinned to the trees outside my window. “I mean that Ambrose guy.”

Ambrose? Who was Ambrose?

At last, my husband turned to look at me, his eyes moist and reddened. “Jeez, Em, if you planned to have an affair, you had to pick a guy with a prissy name like
Ambrose
?”

I jerked as if he’d slapped me. “Wait. Hold up.” My brain struggled to stay in the game. “You think I’m having an affair, and what bothers you the most is my alleged lover’s
name
?”

An angry flush crept into his cheeks. “Don’t think I’m not upset that you’re cheating on me. I am. It’s just that…we haven’t exactly been getting along lately so I understand if you started looking for something better.”

Acid roiled in my stomach. “How civilized of you,” I retorted. When did I wind up in a Jane Austen adaptation? A chill rippled through me as a sudden thought slammed into my head. “Are
you
having an affair, Roy?”

His eyes blazed fire. “Of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you. I love you, Emily.”

“And I love you. Yet you think I’m cheating on you.”

“Well, you have to admit, you’ve been acting strange lately.”

“So you automatically make the leap from ‘acting strange’ to ‘having an affair,’ an affair, mind you, at the
library
with a toddler in tow.”

At least he had the grace to duck his head when he muttered, “I don’t know what you’re doing while I’m at work.”

“I’m not having an affair, Roy.” My voice rose with my outrage, and he dared to shush me, then point to the curtain that separated us from my unknown roommate. I couldn’t care less if the entire floor heard me. “I was at the library with our son for storytime. Where I go every Monday morning.”

“And Ambrose Chase?” His lips curled around the name.

Ambrose Chase? Where had I heard that name before? Wait. The author. In the library. Ah,
that
Ambrose. My memory was slowly coming back. “Mr. Chase is a local author,” I told him with exaggerated calm. “I only met him this morning. He wanted to ask me some questions about what it’s like to work police dispatch in a small town. Research for a story he’s writing. Now, if we’re done doubting my fidelity, why don’t you tell me how I wound up here and when I can leave?”

“You won’t be going anywhere soon, if you keep shouting like that.” A new voice entered our little corner of paradise. Dr. Stewart stepped around the curtain and stopped at my bedside. While his overlarge glasses shielded any true expression from his eyes, a frown etched parentheses around his lips. “You gave us quite a scare, Emily.”

My mouth dried to dust. “So then it’s true? I really did have a heart attack?”

“It’s true. You were lucky your friend knew what to do.”

I shook my head. “But that doesn’t make sense. I didn’t have chest pains. I just couldn’t breathe.” This was a dream. Like the other night, when I dreamt about asking Roy for a divorce. Any minute now, I’d wake up and find myself sitting in my minivan outside the library.

“That’s why you were lucky. A woman’s symptoms differ from the standard chest pains and pain radiating down the arm most men experience. Often, women don’t realize they’re having a heart attack until it’s too late. If your friend hadn’t started CPR when he did, you and I might be having a very different conversation than what’s happening right now.” He pulled a penlight from his shirt pocket and flashed it at my eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Confused.” I turned to glare at Roy. “And ticked off.”

“Any pain?” Dr. Stewart glanced at the EKG machine and tore another sheet from the tongue of paper slowly spitting out. “In your chest or your arms?”

I thought for a moment, took a deep breath, and shook my head. Somehow, I doubted the pain of my heartache mattered to my internist.

****

Francesca

For the next two days, I buried myself in work in an effort to forget about Michael and Josh. Oh, they both tried to reach me. Michael sent me flowers. Roses, of course. Sweet, but not very original. I took them into the hospital and placed them at the nurses’ station with a great big thank you card.

Josh, still leading the construction crew on the house behind mine called me all day on Monday. Needing time and space, I refused to answer the phone. On Tuesday, when I still wouldn’t pick up his calls, he resorted to writing me a message on a sheet of plywood. “PICK UP!” I continued to ignore him, so he lined up all the workmen on the roof and had them shout my name over and over, like some rabid football chant. And not my real name, but his nickname for me.
Fran-nee! Fran-nee! Fran-nee
!

To save my neighbors’ sanity, when my phone rang this time, I picked up. “What?” I admit, I was less than pleasant, but I was also far from amused with his antics.

Josh reacted accordingly. No teasing or witty banter. Just a quick, all business, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m frazzled right now, Josh.”

“How can I help?”

By leaving me alone? Although the thought popped into my head, I had the good sense to leave it there, unsaid.

“You’ve already helped,” I replied instead. “Thanks for taking care of my mom’s leaves. You didn’t have to do that.”

“You shouldn’t have to do it either, Cinderella.”

“She’s my mom.”

“And you’ve got two brothers and three sisters. Any one of them could take some of the burden off you.”

Now, how come he understood that, but my siblings didn’t?

“What’s your schedule this week?”

The non-sequitur threw me. “Huh?”

“Your work schedule. Any chance we can spend a few hours together sometime this week?”

In my upstairs bathroom, I stood in the tub, peeking out the small window at where he stood a hundred yards away on the McNeills’ roof. I was like a teenager with her first crush, and the professional in me inwardly cringed at my behavior. Here was the proof Josh was too young for me. He had me reverting to the antics of an adolescent just to see him without him noticing my spying.

I really had to put a halt to this relationship. By asking me about my work schedule, he’d handed me the perfect opportunity to say no, to tell him I didn’t want to see him anymore. Too bad the words stuck in my throat. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t bring myself to say no. I liked Josh. A lot. He made me smile, which, I had to admit now that he’d called it to my attention, I didn’t do as often as other people. Josh brought out the happy in me. After years of working in the E.R., I knew how fragile true happiness could be. So despite my misgivings, I didn’t turn him down or blow him off.

“I’m on overnights until Thursday,” I told him. “And I plan to spend my night off at home catching up on laundry and sleep.”

“Great. I’ll pick up a pizza and a coupla movies for us. You supply the popcorn and beer.”

I didn’t even bother to argue. How could I? My heartbeat actually sped up at the thought of snuggling on the couch with him under a fleecy throw—a domestic bliss that was so banal and yet so perfect for me. Only one misgiving spoiled the image. “What kind of movies?”

“Don’t worry, Frannie. I’ll bring one for you, and one for me.”

“How do you know what kind of movie I’d like?”

“You’re a girl, aren’t you? I could bring
Pretty Woman
, and you’d sit and watch it even though it’s twenty years old and you own a copy you’ve worn out from endless hours of viewing pleasure. And you’ll still cry when Richard Gere climbs the fire escape.”

I laughed. What else could I do? He pegged me with pinpoint accuracy. “Guilty as charged,” I admitted. I had to remind myself he had four sisters. That kind of family dynamic gave him an insight into the female mind most other guys lacked.

“But here’s the deal,” he said. “We’ll watch
my
movie first. That way, if we don’t finish before I leave for the night, it won’t matter.”

“Since you already know how
Pretty Woman
ends, I guess it’ll be okay if you stroll out early. But here’s
my
deal: no slasher or porno films.”

He turned away from my house to stride across the ribcage of the construction. God, he had the cutest butt, hard packed into tight faded jeans, with that tool belt swinging from his hips. I could almost hear Barry White crooning in rhythm with his movements.
We got it together, baby…

Yes, he did.

“Wow. I think you just insulted me.”

Heat flared in my cheeks, but then I realized he was talking about my comment on his movie taste, and not on my ogling. I left the window area and perched on the edge of the tub until my temperature dropped back to normal. “If I hurt your feelings, I’m sorry. I just want to make sure we’re clear on the guidelines. I see enough gore at work that I don’t find it entertaining in high definition.”

“No worries, Frannie. I can understand why you’d freak out about watching chainsaw massacres and stuff. And I imagine you see enough naked bodies at work too, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Your naked patients probably aren’t at their best when they come into the E.R., either.”

“That’s true.”

My mind flew back to the elderly tourist couple who’d been wheeled in last month. Inspired by a glorious sunrise from their oceanview balcony at The Moorings, they had decided to share a little morning delight. But without his glasses, the gentleman mistook his nitroglycerine paste for her personal lubricant. The poor Dominican maid, barely twenty years old with only a smattering of English at her disposal, came upon the couple when she entered to clean the room. Both were very nude and still locked in passion’s embrace on a chaise lounge on the deck, but immobile and unresponsive. The maid immediately assumed they were dead and called 911. If not for the dangerous repercussions, the story would have been funny. The excessive amount of nitroglycerine paste had lowered their blood pressure to nearly fatal levels, rendering them both unconscious. After they both received oxygen and fluids, we were able to release them to enjoy the rest of their visit to Snug Harbor. Before discharging them, I strongly recommended they keep the nitroglycerine paste in a different area, far away from the lube.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Josh said, effectively ripping away the images of the naked, unconscious octogenarians before I began to shudder. “You must have nerves of steel and a stomach of cast iron. To do what you do, day in and day out. You’re a superhero, Frannie. Does anybody ever tell you that?”

Warmth enveloped me, a cozy blanket on a dreary day. “No.” He continued to amaze me with his sensitivity, intelligence, and generosity of spirit. So, what was the harm in dating him? Didn’t I deserve a man who made me feel good about myself? Of course I did. “Be here at seven,” I said with a goofy smile playing on my lips.

“See you then, Frannie,” he replied and disconnected.